


Fireteam Daybreak: Closure

by TheShadowsmiths



Series: Fireteam Daybreak [5]
Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: FireteamDaybreak, destinythegame - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-12 07:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11156817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShadowsmiths/pseuds/TheShadowsmiths
Summary: Andal's death devastated the Vanguard, but it hit Cayde harder than the rest. He teams up with Variks and sends a group of Guardians to carry out their justice, but even after Taniks' confirmed death, his heart is ill at ease and he can't place why.





	Fireteam Daybreak: Closure

**Author's Note:**

> **Find this on Bungie.net** : [Bungie.net](https://www.bungie.net/en/Forums/Post/207218416)  
>  **Deviantart** : http://fav.me/da756l6  
>  **Tumblr** : <http://fireteam-daybreak.tumblr.com/post/146221897343/closure>

It had been two days’ time since Cayde had learned of Taniks’ presence on the moon- two days’ time since he’d been struck by the haunting memory of his dear friends’ demise, two days’ time since he’d gathered a strike team of his most trusted comrades ( _and a few trustworthy Warlocks and Titans_ ), two days’ time since he’d initiated his revenge.

Tevis had been out of regular contact since they’d descended into the Hellmouth some twenty one hours ago. Cayde had known that transmissions would be sporadic as they fought their way through the Hive and the Fallen, but the telemetries he’d received were short and recorded, distressed and broken. They’d been locked in combat from the moment they’d set foot in the atrium, and the fight raged in the background of every transmission. Cayde worried, but held onto one thing he continued to repeat with every contact.

_No casualties._

The possibility that a full fireteam would make it back from a Strike without sustaining losses was a rarity these days, which was why the radio silences bothered him. He didn’t like not being in control, not knowing what was happening or what they were facing, not being able to direct; it was bad enough that Ikora hadn't allowed him to leave the tower, even worse given their target. The last time a Guardian team had faced down Taniks, the Vanguard had lost one of their most valuable assets, and Cayde a mentor and a friend.

He was jittery, nervous, for the first time in a long time; fingers twitched in a drumming motion and hands clenched and unclenched at the edge of the table as he waited for the next transmission. Three hours ago he’d been told they had him on the ropes and it’d be over soon, and he hadn’t been able to leave the hall since. Not even Ikora or Zavala could drag him away from his map, try as they might, but until he knew that Taniks was dead and his “kids” were safe and sound he just couldn’t bring himself to relax, much less leave. The itch to wander was gone for once. 

And so Cayde waited, and waited, and waited. Two more hours passed, during which time he had drawn up a crude charcoal picture of Taniks to use as target practice and had begun throwing knives at it from across the room; he vaguely recalled Ikora returning at some point and scolding him for using her books as his back-stop before escorting them back to the safety of her shelves, to which he’d responded in defensive wit about how damaged they already were. It had been a long morning and an even longer afternoon, but even after Tevis had finally contacted him to confirm Taniks’ death, it didn't feel any shorter.

Twilight loomed over the mountains surrounding the city and shadowed the window at the back of the room behind the war table. Cayde had stopped pacing but he hadn’t moved since he'd received the news, instead spent his time pouring over items he’d inherited when he’d been thrown into his position of leadership… more specifically, Andal’s logbooks. He’d always found it strange that the man had preferred to handwrite all of his notes. Even if his reasoning was sound, insisting that hand-writing perishable, paper notes fostered information retention over reading computerized data was just too Warlock of him.

And now that he had to go back and make sense of it all by flipping through the tomes instead of cross-referencing a database, he found it cumbersome and infuriating but oddly comforting. The essence of the late Vanguard was permanently etched into the pages, and by extension etched into his memory. Cayde could still hear his pencil scrawling away, Andal mumbling in frustration as he poured over the data on pieces of pressed papyrus sprawled out all around him, stained by coffee mug rings. His spirit lingered in the ritual he carried on, pouring through book after book day after day and picking up where he’d left off, following his trail of intel until the Vanguard could close the mission file. Eventually he’d grown to like it. It slowed him down and filled his time when he was anxious with nothing to do, as he was now.

It was done, Taniks was dead, yet it didn’t sit right with him. There was this nagging that he “should have been there”, that it couldn’t be over, or that maybe he wasn’t really dead, and no amount of watching and rewatching the telemetries of the moment of his death could solidify the reality of his demise in his mind. There was no real closure, and Cayde knew he needed to see the body for himself if he was ever going to be able to let go of it.

He shut the logbook he’d been working in, turned and started toward the hangar but froze at the top of the stairs when he saw Laila approaching from down the hall with something massive in her arms, something long, something… red?

“Cayde…” Laila’s eyes met his in matched melancholy drawing her brow plates together sympathetically, and her shutters half-lidded as she folded the cloth into a clean pile in her arms. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m managing,” he answered with an honest shrug as he eyed what was in her arms. Now that she was closer the light from Shaxx's countertop had revealed the shape of a fur collar and Fallen runes rabidly slapped on as a declaration of war or pride; his jaw tightened when he realized what it could be.

The Exo pursed a quiet smirk at the corners of her mouth that lifted the apples of her cheeks and lowered her eyes for a split-second as she approached him. “I’m relieved Ikora didn't ground you… we were worried you’d gone stir-crazy and done something stupid.”

“Who says I didn’t?” he quickly replied; the quip was telling, honesty beneath thinly veiled sarcasm.

She let loose a quiet laugh and after a pause she frowned as her eyes trailed through the air beside him down to the floor. “I’m sorry you couldn’t be there… I know how badly you wanted to put an end to him yourself.”

Cayde shrugged and stepped closer, eyes glanced down in idle thought before he looked back up at her. He’d let go of the hope of that becoming a reality the day he’d taken up his mantle as Andal’s successor. “I can’t take _all_ the glory for myself…” he teased with a wry grin, then lowered his gaze to her. “But honestly, I’m just glad the job’s done and everyone made it back in one piece… we couldn’t let Taniks claim any more of us.”

Eye lights turned up to him with a solemn nod and she squeezed the cloth in her arms a little tighter, which drew his attention.

“So what’ve you got for me? I thought Tevis had included everything in his report,” he asked all business, eyes fixated on her arms, anxious to know what she was holding.

“He did,” she replied with a small shift in her posture, “This was something… _special_ I wanted to bring you myself.”

Cayde’s jaw clenched at the word special and his eyes darted up to her with a long, hard look that screamed the question. “Is- is that…”

Laila unfurled her arms and laid the tattered cloak out long and flat between them and watched his expression grow weak as he reached out and brushed the cloak with a light touch. “It belonged to Taniks…”

There was a heaviness in his chassis and a low, sputtering hum as she slipped the blood-stained cloak into his arms. Cayde felt like the weight of the world had been simultaneously thrown onto and lifted off of his shoulders. His throat lights dimmed from yellow, to orange, to red, until they went dark. Cayde's brow pressed lower and lower until his eyes shut tight and he hunched his shoulders as quivering arms curled around the edges, and sadness and relief overwhelmed him. The Exo’s words caught in his voice modulator and flashed hot in his throat; he was speechless.

“I took it as a trophy, as penance for Andal,” she started as she pulled her hands out from under the heavy cloth, “Seeing as you couldn’t be there… I felt you should have it. I thought this would help make it real, _final_.”

“It does…” he whispered in a hoarse, weak tone and shook his head in disbelief. She knew… how could she have known he was going to need this? Was he really that predictable or did she just know him _that well_? Considering what they’d been through, he considered it a possibility. After all Laila was, in all honesty, one of his longest-standing friends in spite of their differences over the years, and in a way one of the last things still connecting him to his deceased friend. But he still couldn’t believe she would have done something like this for him.

“We all loved Andal very, _very_ much… he was the heart of the city, of the Vanguard, and I miss him every day, but this should be with _you_.”

“I just…-” Cayde’s voice cracked and cut out with a pause as he regained his composure, looked at the cloak a little longer before tearing his gaze away and looked her right in the eye. “I don’t think you know how much I needed this.”

“I had a pretty good idea…” she replied with a gentleness in her tone and an understanding smile. “You’re not as subtle as you think you are.”

He scoffed in disbelief and forced a smile as she reached around to hug the sadness out of him. Laila’s hands were soft on his shoulders, and although he couldn’t feel her touch he could feel the warmth of her light pour into him, compassionate and kind, healing; he placed one arm across her shoulders and returned the gesture. Everything was okay now. He wanted to thank her, but he’d been vulnerable enough that day and couldn’t bring himself to say it any other way. After a long moment he cleared his throat and shifted his eyes over her shoulder.

“… This thing smells bad, where am I supposed to keep it?”


End file.
